


dysesthesia

by en passant (corinthian)



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 07:21:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2573024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corinthian/pseuds/en%20passant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were war heroes. It was almost laughable. They didn’t get awards, they didn’t get endorsements and their faces weren’t plastered on posters proclaiming their greatness. Instead the government sent them tidy sums of money every month, like a salary — shut up money.</p><p>AU, a story about moving on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dysesthesia (dysaesthesia) comes from the Greek word "dys", meaning "not-normal" and "aesthesis", which means "sensation" (abnormal sensation). It is defined as an unpleasant, abnormal sense of touch. It often presents as pain but may also present as an inappropriate, but not discomforting, sensation. It is caused by lesions of the nervous system, peripheral or central, and it involves sensations, whether spontaneous or evoked, such as burning, wetness, itching, electric shock, and pins and needles. Dysesthesia can include sensations in any bodily tissue, including most often the mouth, scalp, skin, or legs.

Every six months Trowa let Duo restock his kitchen. Inevitably, and in manic Duo fashion, the canned goods would get pushed to the back of the cabinets and fresh produce would get stuffed into their proper drawers — the crisper and whatever the other drawer was called finally getting their intended use. For someone who was so casually messy about his personal space, Duo was meticulous about his kitchen, and by extension meticulous about Trowa’s kitchen.

“I can’t believe you have actual _Spam_.” Duo grunted and carefully packed the freezer with cuts of chicken and steak. “And that the spice rack is still plastic wrapped.” He added, and ripped the packaging off. Trowa picked up the can of spam — one of four that were in his cabinet and turned it over in his hands. He hadn’t ever unwrapped the spice rack because he didn’t see a point.

“I could make you a spam and cheese sandwich.” Trowa offered.

Duo pulled a face. “You know, once most people start making money they do things like buy real food.” He pointed out. “If you need recipes I could even give you some, but I’ve seen you cook. You actually know how, which is the worst part!”

“Habit.” 

“What are you going to do when I stop taking care of you?”

“Spam and cheese sandwiches.”

“C’mon, throw that away.” Duo reached for the can. Trowa, though, had several inches on him and just held it aloft.

“You can take my life, but you can never take my spam.” He deadpanned.

“I’m only letting you get away with this because you’re fixing up my bike for me.” Duo finally relented and started digging through the drawer for take out menus. “Let’s order in tonight. Your treat.”

“You know, once you start making money. . .” Trowa murmured, but he tapped on a Thai menu, indicating his preference.

“You make more than I do, buddy. And you don’t spend it on normal human things. Like presents and _food._ ” Duo laughed, it was a joke. He ordered. They had an agreement, of sorts. A decade ago they had been foster brothers. Five years ago they had been roommates. Now Duo was a semi-constant presence in Trowa’s life, or at least would be until Trowa finished school.

Every six months Duo would stop by, they would order food, watch movies, do anything but talk about the past. It wasn’t a bad arrangement at all.

—

Duo’s poison of choice was fast vehicles. Cars, motorcycles, planes. Hell, he’d take a sled down an icy hill if he thought that would get his blood flowing. It was an expensive habit, but he had cash to burn these days. It still was a shock to him, whenever he went over his bills for the month to see money left over. For all that he teased Trowa about his spending habits, Duo was only just coming into his own. It was in no small part thanks to his old foster father and sister, and the Second Church that he’d gotten it down. He’d spent his first paycheck almost immediately, when it had been cut. It took him five months to scope out banks and even longer to even open an account.

“How’s my war hero brother doing?” Hilde’s voice was bright, only barely tainted by the static on the phone.

“Don’t even start, Hilde,” Duo mock-groaned, though a note of real pain slipped into his voice too. “I’m just staying at Trowa’s for tonight, then I’m headed back tomorrow morning. You haven’t burned anything down yet, have you? Still in one piece? Did you brush your teeth and change your underwear?” He teased.

“Ugh, gross. What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“Well, I don’t mind going, but it’ll cost you. . .”

“Duo Maxwell! Don’t extort your sister!” Hilde laughed. They weren’t really brother and sister, not in blood and not on paper, but neither of them figured that mattered much.

“I ate spam today, be nice to me.” 

“Gross! Why would you do that?”

“You won’t believe how old some of the shit in Trowa’s kitchen was. I swear, some must be older than he is.”

“Why don’t you invite him back with you?” 

“Don’t, Hilde.” The tone in Duo’s voice was firm. They had that argument every time Duo went to visit Trowa. Hilde thought it would be nice if Duo and Trowa hung out more than once every half a year. She said that maybe they could talk about things. She would say, look at how nice things turned out between you and Wufei. Or she would say, maybe instead of driving for hours maybe you guys should live in the same city.

Once, Duo had bridged the idea to Trowa, back when Trowa had first moved into the mostly depressing apartment. Trowa hadn’t said anything at all, just washed the dishes. Duo took that to be a bad sign.

“Duo, eventually something is going to give.” Hilde’s voice sobered. “You should at least make him visit you once.”

Duo just shrugged, momentarily forgetting she couldn’t see him, over the phone.

—

They were war heroes. It was almost laughable. They didn’t get awards, they didn’t get endorsements and their faces weren’t plastered on posters proclaiming their greatness. Instead the government sent them tidy sums of money every month, like a salary — shut up money.

Quatre funneled his back into orphanages, hospitals, he gave back to the community. Of course, Quatre was also sitting on the largest and richest conglomeration in the world. A celebrity without his war hero status the war hardly seemed to have dented his polished smile. People knew that Quatre had suffered during the war, when it was over he had made it public knowledge that he was attending specialized retreats for soldiers with PTSD. What the general populace didn’t know was that Quatre had been a vigilante terrorist during the war. 

The guilt still ate away at him. Every now and then he would catch his own reflection in the mirror, the window of a car, or even the shiny surface of his own desk, and wince. The calm face that looked back wasn’t his at all. Before the war he hadn’t been innocent, but he had been hopeful. After the war he maintained his compassion, but something had crumbled. He jumped at shadows, when he was tired and the sound of children screaming, even in just a tantrum, sent his blood pressure skyrocketing.

He did his best to maintain contact with the others. The five of them, publicly only known as 01, 02, 03, 04 and 05, were war heroes. Of course, that was mostly because their side had won. Quatre wasn’t under any kind of illusions about how propaganda and publicity worked. If they had lost they would have gone down as infamous and atrocious terrorists instead of the plucky heroes they were written as in modern textbooks.

Peace was precarious, and Quatre wasn’t going to jeopardize it. It was difficult, though, to go from combat to sitting at a desk and going over business ledgers. That was why he had a private phone, which only 10 people knew the number to, and why whenever it rang he dropped whatever he was doing and answered.

“Quatre here.” Not that anyone else would have answered his phone.

“Hey.” It was an oddly casual greeting from Heero.

“It’s good to hear from you, Heero! What are you up to?” Quatre felt his shoulders relax, paperwork forgotten.

“Mountains.” Heero took his monthly sum of money and split it between practical expenses, children’s hospitals and travel. It was always funny to Quatre, in the way that only morbid humor can be, that the most deadly person he knows enjoys long hikes and hearing children laugh. It always sounds like a set up for a horror movie with the buried remains of babies under a stone on the mountain top.

Admittedly, that’s almost what it is.

“Take pictures, I expect to hear about it.” Quatre sighed. He could convince Heero to visit him every few months, with shoeboxes full of the photos he took on his travels. It was more than he could convince any of the others to do. “I think we should have a reunion.”

“It’ll be difficult to coordinate.” Heero didn’t agree or disagree, but he understood what Quatre meant — a reunion of all five of them.

—

“You didn’t tell him I was here.” Wufei pointed out. 

Heero shrugged and tucked the phone back into a waterproof pocket in his backpack. It had been raining on and off and it wouldn’t do if their phone, since Wufei didn’t bring his, got wet and ruined. They had been camping for about a week, mostly off the grid but something about the sunset had asked Heero to call Quatre. Ever since the war he’d been trying to do more things “just because”, like travel, like hiking, like inviting Wufei to come with him and like calling Quatre.

“Didn’t feel like it.” Was the explanation. “He wants to have a reunion.” He added.

“A reunion.” Wufei raised an eyebrow. “It’s been years.”

“Three years.” Heero corrected. 

“Yes, I know exactly how long.” Wufei’s irritability was a constant. “Why now?”

They had drifted after the war. Quatre to business, Heero to travel. Duo, had against all of Wufei’s expectations, become a youth advocate and was so good at his job he was highly sought after. They had met up, roomed together for eight months after the war. Duo had been a necessity in Wufei’s life then, someone else who understood the intricacies of trying to adjust to life again. And, Duo had been someone who understood the burden of trying to carry a personal code through the war. Quatre had kept his compassion and his sense of morals, but he had never set himself up for black and white personal codes. Duo was a thief but he was honest and that honesty meant as much to him as Wufei’s sense of justice. Wufei had no idea what Trowa was doing, but Trowa had always been a bit of an enigma to him. Not a soldier, not compassionate and without a code of honor. A true mercenary, he’d thought.

Heero had been the one that Wufei sought out, a year after living with Duo. Heero and Wufei had shared training camp before the war. It was a kind of shared experience that the others didn’t have. That was probably why Wufei felt comfortable traveling with Heero, knowing that they were both well versed in making camp, covering their tracks, and carrying dead bodies over large distances.

“We should go.” Heero decided.

“We’re still miles away from any city.” Wufei pointed out, but cracked a very small pressed smile. “I wouldn’t mind going.”


	2. Chapter 2

Somehow Quatre wanted to con them all into a week together. Well, first he had called Heero, then Heero and Quatre had divided and conquerored. Heero had asked Wufei who had asked Duo. Quatre had called Trowa. They had all called each other at different times.

“Hey, Trowa! You’re coming to the reunion, right?”

“No.”

Had been Duo and Trowa’s exchange. Wufei and Trowa had discussed classes. Trowa was working on his high school equivalency, but had determined the best way was to take a full set of courses. Wufei, ever the scholar, enjoyed the academic discourse. He was shocked at some of the ‘archaic’ texts, something that amused Trowa. They didn’t talk about the reunion, but their parting comments had civil, almost friendly. Wufei took it to be a good sign.

On the other hand, Quatre and Duo’s was much more productive.

“Should I bring gifts?”

“Quatre, why would you bring gifts?”

“Well, it’s been years, and it would be nice to — give everyone something to remember the occasion.”

“I’m not sure we could forget it. Besides, don’t you think that might be too formal? Can you imagine giving Heero a paperweight like — here’s this paperweight to commemorate that somehow we’re wanted terrorists turned heroes who aren’t dead? By the way, how was slaughtering thousands of people in the name of peace?”

“I would get Heero a camera.” Quatre wasn’t even put off by the truth, none of them would be. “Wufei would get one of those new tablets, compact.”

“If you get everyone a gift then we’ll all feel like chumps, Quat. Well, I won’t, but you know how they are.” Duo chewed on something. “So, what would you get Trowa?”

“He doesn’t like gifts, Duo. As much as I’d like to get him something. . .” 

“Yeah. You know, once I tried to give him a book and six hours later he gave me a book. Not the same book, but you know.” 

“That sounds like him. I think everything I gave him ended up in Catherine’s house. He hates being in debt, I feel like. . . it’s only really gotten worse after the war.” Quatre and Trowa were friends, the best of friends. It wasn’t difficult for Quatre to read Trowa, though sometimes he wished he could be a little selfish and pamper his friend. “We got to know each other better, and I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. It’s funny, how after only a few years I’ve forgotten what it was like, to live like that. It’s second nature for me to pick out gifts for guests and hosts. Like this would be some kind of fancy party.” His voice got quieter. It was a different kind of battlefield he’d entered. What kind of anniversary gifts were required for which of his business partners. Who would appreciate thoughtful gifts and who he could get away with sending impersonal flowers. Quatre loved people, but he had never been a fool. 

“Can’t say I envy you. Going from checking for snipers to checking for etiquette.” Duo shook his head, even though he knew Quatre couldn’t see him. “I’m the same way though, getting gifts from people I haven’t seen in years for no real reason kind of freaks me out. Get it?”

“No, I get it. I even thought about that, it’s just. . .” Quatre sighed again. “It feels like we’re all running away from this. From each other.”

“Naw, that’s my job.” 

—

The hotel Heero and Wufei stayed at had terrible internet. Wufei took his phone out to the balcony to call Trowa, generously leaving Heero the bandwidth to attempt a video call with Duo. It took two attempts before the call connected.

“Hey, Heero!” Duo grinned, and waved. Heero stared and then raised a hand in a small return wave.

“Duo.”

“Quatre says you’re in the mountains. Probably not anymore if you’re calling. Get enough of the great outdoors?”

“No, I enjoyed it.” Heero nodded. “Next time you should come with me.” His lips quirked into a small smile. They came more readily, these days. They would never been Duo’s full grin or Quatre’s broad smile, or even Wufei’s satisfied smugness, but Heero’s smiles would always be genuine.

“Bugs, dirt, no showers. I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.” Duo snorted. “Anyway, doesn’t sound like you went alone.”

Heero quirked a brow at that. Duo had always been perceptive about his habits. He wondered what had given it away. He didn’t think he’d said anything or made any expression towards having company.

“Wufei is here.”

“You should have told me! Tell him hi whenever he gets back from whatever.” Duo waved a hand. “Hilde and Howard say hi too. Business is going great, by the way, if you were curious.”

“I already checked your records.” Heero wasn’t one for unnecessary chatter, but he was one for unnecessary snooping. Everyone had their bad habits. “Are you going to go, to Quatre’s reunion?”

Duo started laughing.

“Man, you are almost as bad as Trowa! Quatre’s reunion. It’s all of ours! _Ours_! To celebrate still being alive, to celebrate peace, you know that sort of thing?”

“I was thinking about it. It feels right.” Heero looked off to the side. It was his thinking expression. “I think we would all enjoy it.”

“I’m going to put a whoopie cushion on Wufei’s seat.” Duo grinned, but his eyes were searching Heero’s face. It was harder to read expressions over video calls, something about either the slight delay in electronics or maybe it was just the fact that the face was on a screen instead of a person’s body, but it made Heero even more difficult to read. There was a soft sereneness to Heero’s face though, something that had worked its way free during the war. Heero had always been someone who knew who he was and knew his feelings — he had also just been a soldier and knew how to work through them. Acceptable loss, necessary missions. Duo knew all too well how necessary that mentality of Heero’s had been — they’d all shared it, to an extent, even Quatre. But Heero had been questing for himself, with all his travel. “And maybe yours.”

Heero’s smile widened. “We need a location and a date.”

—

“Trowa’s coming over for dinner.” Hilde informed Duo. Duo almost fell out of his chair where he was running numbers. He blinked and turned slowly to look at her.

“Run that by me again, Hilde?”

“Trowa’s coming over for dinner.” She repeated and smirked. It was a very self-satisfied smirk. “I asked him over a few days ago and he said he might as well, since we were on his way. He didn’t say on his way where _to_ but that doesn’t matter.”

“I have no idea how in the hell you convinced him to come over. I’m not sure I want to know.” In all the time he had known Trowa he had never managed to invite him over. For a while it had been a mutual thing, Duo certainly hadn’t wanted Trowa over. Then it was just because, to Duo’s knowledge, Trowa did nothing but work and school.

“Duo. I just asked. And I know it might be awkward, but. . . well, he’s really the only other foster sib you’ve had, right?”

That made Duo frown. It was true, but it wasn’t something he wanted them to talk about during dinner. He had shared a house with Trowa and three other boys with two unlikely foster parents for eight months. It had been Duo at his worst and Trowa hadn’t been called Trowa then.

“Yeah. That was before Father Maxwell took me in.” He bit out. “Please don’t ask him about it. He might not even remember.” Fat chance. Well, maybe not, but Duo and Trowa had never talked about it. Ever. It was taboo. They only talked about the war, occasionally, but preferred to stick to neutral subjects.

“I won’t, if you really don’t want me to, but it might be good for you guys. I mean, you go over every few months and play babysitter for him. If you’re looking for absolution you won’t get it unless you talk.” Her voice stayed light, casual, but it carried that sharp steel in it that made her an amazing cop. One hand steel and one hand comfort. It didn’t help that she knew all of Duo’s bullshit.

“I’m not playing babysitter for him, I owe him that much.” Duo muttered. “You know, I bet he’d be a vegetarian if he wasn’t so attached to shitty canned food.” He added almost spitefully.

“I’ll make Indian.” Hilde offered.

—

Trowa brought them a gift. It was a pair of motorcycles, chained to the bed of the shittiest truck Duo had ever seen. It looked like Trowa had dug it up from a junk heap and somehow coaxed life into it. Which was probably exactly what he had done.

“Got something for you.” Trowa said by way of greeting and walked the first bike off the back. “Not as fast or heavy as the one you have, but it’s a matched set.” There was no change in the inflection of his voice, but Duo could tell he was pleased with himself.

“You brought us motorcycles.” 

“I didn’t have any wine.” Trowa joked, voice and face flat. Duo laughed enough for both of him and walked the other bike around the back of the house.

“Hilde is going to be pissed. We’ll take them on a trip this weekend.” 

Hilde was, as Duo predicted moderately outraged. She was also pleased — because while she didn’t have the same taste for speed that Duo did she did like motorcycles. She and Trowa spent a long moment examining each other. Hilde didn’t make any attempt to hide her judgment and in turn Trowa stared right back, almost challengingly.

“Do you like Indian?” Hilde broke the stalemate with a smile.

“Should I have brought three bikes?” Trowa asked. It made them all laugh, and they sat down to eat.

“So. You guys go back, huh.” Hilde started after they started eating. “You know, none of his war friends come around much.” She added, giving Duo A Look.

Trowa blinked and tore a piece of naan in half.

“You want to meet his war friends.” He repeated, and then gave a small smile that was more of a quirk of his lips. “I can tell you most of his embarrassing habits if you didn’t figure them out already.”

“Trowa, don’t you even dare.” Duo interrupted. That seemed to ease the tension again, and they chatted about inconsequential things. Work. School. Hilde’s job. Duo’s job. The changes that were taking place in the metropolis that Duo and Hilde called home.

“Can I ask you a favor.” Trowa abruptly changed the flow of conversation when they moved towards the war. “I’m going to be gone all summer and I need someone to check in on my place every now and then.”

“Gone?” Duo and Hilde said in stereo.

“There’s a program. . . for veterans to do disaster work.” Trowa said slowly. It sounded confident, but Duo knew him better. It was hesitation.

“Trowa, you’re not a veteran.” Not a _legal_ veteran anyway. Not anymore than Duo was. Neither of them could claim veterans benefits without getting into the can of worms about being terrorists. And without losing their hefty salary from the government.

Trowa raised an eyebrow. “I have paperwork to be at least four veterans.” He said mildly. He hadn’t been skimming benefits — what would he do with them anyway, his bank account was getting swollen as is on the government pay out — but he never terminated his old identities. If Trowa Barton wanted to disappear he wanted to have options.

Hilde made a choking sound. “I — am an officer of the law — “ she got out. “If you’re committing fraud, please do it outside.”

Duo inclined his head, a silent invitation. Trowa nodded and they both headed out to the back porch.

“So. Taking a page out of my book or Heero’s?” Duo kept his voice even. Trowa wasn’t a runner, not like Duo was, but he was someone who sometimes just stopped existing. And sometimes that meant becoming someone else.

“Neither.” Trowa hummed, low in his throat. “I’m bored, I guess. This seemed like something to do.”

“Are you sure it isn’t a covert way to investigate old Oz servicemen and murder them?” The morbid joke fell flat on the night air but Trowa cracked another small smile.

“Pretty sure. I just need to clear my head. It’s why I won’t be able to make the reunion, if it’s in the next six months.” Trowa bowed his head. “Not sure I want to go anyway.”

“Me neither, really. I mean — I want to see the guys, you know how it is. But I kind of wonder how much they’ve — how much we’ve changed — and while I’ve planned out how to prank everyone. . .” He trailed off. 

“You’ll do well, if you go.” Trowa knew Duo. It had been funny, when they had reconnected the first time and realized that whatever measure they had taken of each other years ago still held true. “Being with people makes you happy.” He clarified. It was only with people he trusted that Trowa bothered to clear up otherwise ambiguous sentiments.

“Nerves, man, you know how it is. I mean, worse than a day at court. Can you imagine how judgmental Wufei is going to be? And Heero, he might just actually try to kill us. Quatre though, at least Quatre’s okay.” Duo felt himself rambling. “I wonder if it’ll just be worse, though. Like seeing all the old faces will make us see war flashbacks.” He laughed.

“Yeah.” Trowa agreed. “If you aren’t already.”


	3. Chapter 3

Quatre doesn’t bother to hold back his grin. He walked down the length of the building, peeked in the window and then repeated the gesture down the other side. Wufei watched him with a frown, but stayed silent until Quatre had completely circled the building.

“It’s wonderful.” He breathed.

“It’s a building.” Wufei groused. “Construction was delayed for _zoning_ permits.” He scowled.

“It’s actually remarkably fast, for them.” Quatre nodded. “It took an entire year for us to get the first Winner Academy groundwork laid, when we put it in. The fact that they did this much in only a few months is impressive.”

Wufei didn’t argue the point, instead he crossed his arms and eased up on his scowl. It’s supposed to be a school — or, it _will_ be a school. He had been working on reconstruction for his home metropolis for the entire three years since the war. Unfortunately, construction permits seemed to be thwarting him at every turn.

“Then this is an acceptable pace.” He muttered.

Quatre actually laughed. “Yes, it’s acceptable. Once they finish up, you’ll have an operational school in no time! Have you looked at teachers yet?” That made Wufei hesitate. He uncrossed and then recrossed his arms.

“In the war, you — maintained yourself.” 

“Not entirely,” Quatre murmured, not to interrupt but he wasn’t going to absolve his own crimes. Wufei snorted, but it wasn’t to bely Quatre’s claim. None of them would forget Quatre’s brief break with sanity and he had not been trying to circumvent it.

“What I am referring to, Quatre, is that the man you are today is — you were not destroyed by the war. You’ve made sensible choices in both your personal life and your business life.” Wufei admired, privately, Quatre’s candid nature when it came to his own issues with the war. His guilt. The decision to see professionals about how to cope. He appreciated what Quatre did with his war funds. “I would be honored if you have the time to offer your opinion on the teachers for this school. You have experience, which I do not and— “

“Wufei.” Quatre interrupted him, gently. It was different from his earlier interjection, smooth and comforting in a way that only Quatre could be. “You don’t have to be so formal. The — the five of us have a unique relationship.” He smiled. “It’s _me_ who would be honored to help you sort through resumes for teachers. While my family did fund several of the Winner Academies, this will be a first for me too.”

“Thank you.” 

Quatre held his hand out, then and without hesitation, Wufei took it.

—

“Pictures.” Duo rocked on his heels. He paced. He leaned over Heero’s shoulder to look at the book that Heero was carefully, with laser precision, pasting a photograph to a page. Heero didn’t even look up, didn’t shift, didn’t elbow Duo in the face. “I can’t believe you’re _scrapbooking._ ”

Heero continued to ignore Duo and wrote the date beneath the picture. It was from the top of the mountains he and Wufei had hiked. The photo showed the sky — just before sunset — darkened with violet and the sweep of trees that disappeared into a foggy valley. Heero wanted to go back. He wrote down the location. Only then did he stretch and with mock exaggeration ‘accidentally’ elbow Duo.

It had the desired effect. Duo laughed, cheered, settled himself next to Heero on the chair that was built for one but they forced to accommodate both of them. Heero wasn’t naturally friendly. He had been a military brat and then an early enlister when the wars broke out. He had been raised on discipline and a steady diet of moving from military base to military base until his father had been killed in action. But Duo had a way of putting people at easy, at invading their personal space without being a threat.

“A record of memories isn’t a bad thing.” Heero answered and blew on the scrapbook to help dry the glue. “It allows me to reminisce.”

“I can’t believe you don’t keep them on your laptop.” Duo rolled his eyes towards the ever present laptop on the coffee table. “I thought you would be practically attached to it. Plugged in. Like a robot.”

Heero seemed to consider it seriously. After the war he had decided to examine things more closely. After he had almost died, after his journey of repentance, after the war when it was peace that seemed to be driving his feelings to boil over and he’d taken to travel as a way to calm his nerves — after all of that he’d vowed to consider things. Following emotions was all well and good but failing to understand them was frustrating.

“Computers are simple.” Was what he came up with.

Duo laughed. “Heero, buddy, you can hack the pants off of anyone I’ve ever met. I don’t think ‘computers are simple’ is really what we’re going for.” He kicked his feet up and rested them on the coffee table top, careful not to let his boots weigh on the laptop.

“It’s logical, they don’t have feelings. They’re even more predictable than weather, or patterns of debris.” Heero continued. “Something like this. . .” His fingers tapped on the book cover. “Is more honest, when it comes to remembering how something felt.”

“Damn, Heero, you make me want to take up scrapbooking too.”

—

She always has time for Heero. Relena quirked her lips at the thought. She would never say it out loud, not at her age and not in her position. People were so quick to jump on her and say she was a lovesick little girl playing at politics. She didn’t appreciate them making light of her efforts — of the lives of the people she represented. She was the queen of a war torn country and people wanted to harp on any sort of perceived weakness she had.

But when she had been in meetings for the entire day — literally over 12 hours — and the only moment of peace she got when she returned home was an odd package from Heero, she couldn’t keep from thinking it. The package was a book. It was a book of photographs, most of them of the immediate disaster relief around the country. They were all two years old, the date and location written in Heero’s tight handwriting.

She smiled, even as the images weighed on her. She knew what this book meant, to her and to Heero. Relena pulled out her phone, checked the memory to see how much was left. It was enough. She dialed a number.

“Dorothy, are you free tomorrow?” Relena smiled. “Let’s go out and take some pictures.”

If Heero would send her a book of memories, of the time when they had just begun to dig the cities from the rubble the war had buried them in — the she would send him a book of hope and progress.


	4. Chapter 4

“I wish you wouldn’t do this to yourself.” Catherine told him when he let her know. She had approved of him going to school, she had approved of him letting Duo come every six months. She didn’t approve of this. He thought, perhaps, it was because he cut his hair, bought a shirt a size too big and when he video called her he was already wearing someone else’s mannerisms.

He knew that wasn’t really the case. Catherine knew him better than anyone, that’s why she worried. He had wanted to stay with her, after the war, but it hadn’t worked out. It hadn’t worked out because he rolled off his cot during a nightmare and she touched him on the shoulder and he had given her a black eye. Trowa grimaced at the memory and yanked another piece of wood off the pile of debris. Manual labor was comforting, he could lose himself in the physicality of it. 

“Need a hand?”

“I got it.” Trowa nodded, shortly, he gestured with his shoulder in the sharp casual motion he’d decided Paul Brentman would use. Not that Paul Brentman was a real person, but Trowa was far more comfortable being Paul at the moment.

“If you tear something trying to be macho the captain’ll be all over us.” Alex, a _true_ veteran, grabbed the other edge of the wood and helped Trowa haul it to the side where other workers would cut it up and cart it off. They were excavating what had been a home, before the tornados. “‘Sides, I know that look on your face.”

“. . . just lost in thought.” Trowa murmured, but he didn’t try to shut down the conversation. Alex was a nice guy. He was several years older than Trowa and the kind of guy who tried to keep everyone included. In the last war he lost a foot to a cluster of mines. Modern science could knit his leg back together but there had been nothing left of the foot.

Sometimes Trowa wondered if the mines were something he’d planted, or Duo, maybe even Heero.

“Look, Paul, I don’t press, it’s not my thing, you know?” Alex gathered up strips of metal. They might have been pieces of air ducts, or maybe reinforcement for something. It was odd, how similar and yet how different a tornado descending on a home could be from a bomb. Trowa helped him, clearing more debris away from what might have been someone’s living room, once. “But a lot of guys your age. . . it’s a shame. I’ve got a younger brother, he opted out, you know? Pacifist. He never looks like you do.”

“My mother was a pacifist.” Trowa offered. “She’s dead.” Paul had been close to his mother, Trowa decided. He had loved his mother and served in the military because he wanted to preserve her idea of peace. It was all too saccharine and foolish and people like Trowa knew better.

“I’m not saying anything against you, him or her.” Alex said gently. “But if you ever want to talk, you can talk to me. We’re here to help people and if you find a survivor with a face like that they’ll wonder who died.” He laughed. It was a bad joke but Trowa let himself laugh too. Paul Brentman would be the kind of guy who understood that humor, who laughed to help lighten the atmosphere.

Trowa was absolutely sure he hated Paul Brentman.

—

Dorothy snapped another picture of Relena. Behind Relena was the foundation for a new hospital. It had been put in over the foundation of the old hospital. The previous hospital had been bombed to nothingness during the war, for harboring rebels. It had been the largest hospital in this city and had been a specialty clinic for brain cancer as well as one of the leading pediatric care centers in the world. It was going to be a veterans hospital, when it was done. Dorothy wasn’t sure she approved of the change, but it wasn’t her decision to make. Nor had it been Relena’s.

“It’s been a while, since we just walked together.” Relena smiled. It wasn’t her Queen smile or even her friendly polite smile, but a genuine smile that was far too tired. If there was anyone who was qualified to lead the nation back from war it was Relena. But Dorothy hated that.

“Maybe if you stopped sticking your neck out for ungrateful wastes of space we could spend more time together.” She never held back, not against Relena.

Relena laughed. She turned on her heel, doing a simple spin to take in the city around them. The building was going well, people were going to shops, eating out even. The lines for the soup kitchens and shelters were going down. But it was still a ruined shell of a city.

“Those are our people, Dorothy.” And Relena meant the words, that was the most irritating part. She didn’t mean ‘ours’ like ownership or ‘ours’ like someone would refer to their favorite sports team. She meant, with all of her heart and soul, that this city and this country meant everything to her. It made Dorothy’s stomach tighten, it made her angry and elated all at once.

“Of course, your majesty. Why don’t we also get some pictures of the park?” Dorothy started, gently, but finished it up with, “And kick out any of the derelicts who are taking advantage of your kindness.”

“I’m glad I have you to keep me honest,” Relena winked and then carefully rearranged her expression to casual polite. While they wouldn’t be disturbed at a construction site that was closed to the public the park was another matter. Dorothy followed her example, shoulders rolled back and stance becoming more aggressive.

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Dorothy smiled, all teeth.

—

Duo visits Trowa’s house every other week while he’s gone. Trowa has an obscene number of plants on the back porch and Duo is pretty sure half of them shouldn’t even be growing but beyond all odds they’re thriving. No pets though, that was the oddest thing.

He watered the plants and called Quatre up on his cell. It seemed weird to be at Trowa’s apartment without Trowa actually there. It felt like he was intruding, even though Trowa had specifically asked him to look after the place, which in Trowa speak had been ‘don’t let my plants die.’

“Duo?” Quatre sounded surprised. Duo couldn’t blame him. It was rare that the five of them talked more than necessary.

“Hey, Quatre! How’s it hanging?” Duo poked at a weird red leafed plant and then investigated the corner of carnivorous plants. “I was free and thought I’d call.”

“Busy, but not too busy for you,” Quatre sounded relieved. “Is something wrong?”

“No way, but — well, it’s quiet over here and since last time you’d mentioned, yanno, that we seemed like we were drifting. . .” Duo shrugged, cradled the phone and wondered how much water to give a venus fly trap. “I’m over at Tro’s watering his plants, I think he’s trying to grow a jungle.”

Quatre laughed. It was a nice sound. “He’s sent me pictures, crappy camera phone pictures of them.” 

“He really needs to get a pet.” Duo muttered. “Some of these plants are alive.”

“Duo, they’re all alive.”

“I mean in the catch live animals live!”

“Oh. I wonder where he got those.” Quatre didn’t sound as mystified as his words implied. Duo narrowed his eyes a bit and finished his watering rounds. “Why isn’t Trowa watering his own plants?”

“He didn’t tell you?” Duo stepped back inside and closed the patio door behind him, locked it. “He’s out doing disaster relief or something. Gone the entire summer.”

“He didn’t mention it in his last call,” Quatre sounded thoughtful. “But you know, he never mentioned how often you went over either.” There was some impishness in Quatre’s voice now.

“Not that often, Quat, don’t get too excited.” Duo laughed, though. If anyone could understand the weird rhythm he and Trowa had, it would be Quatre. “But you know, since we’re on the phone, why don’t we meet up sometime? You can come over next time I water the plants and defend me from the horrors of his little green monsters.”

“I’d like that.”


	5. Chapter 5

Trowa broke one of his own rules. When he’s someone else he cuts off contact with who he is as ‘Trowa’ — it’s kind of a ridiculous rule since Trowa isn’t even his real name, but he usually sticks with it. But halfway through the summer he had a few beers with Alex and listened to Alex talk about the night the mines took his foot and how the way his brother looked at him when he returned home and Trowa climbed up on the roof of the shared dorm and called Heero.

“Trowa.” Heero’s voice was calm, but it was late. He was probably still awake. While Heero was a light sleeper during the war they’d spent enough time together that Trowa could pick up on the slight gravel Heero had in the morning.

“Heero.” He answered. He hadn’t planned on saying anything. Phones were awkward. Trowa much preferred to be in person and see the body language. He could only imagine what kind of face Heero was making. Whether it was a neutral one, or one of those cautiously optimistic ones, or a casually pessimistic one.

“You called,” There was a pause, the sound of fingers on a keyboard, “I thought you would be unavailable all summer.”

“Duo tell you that?”

“Yes.”

Trowa paced the length of the dorm. It was only six stories and he could see easy handholds all the way down, if he wanted to jump off. Pattern recognition. “I am. I decided to call you.”

“Following your emotions?” Trowa couldn’t pinpoint what Heero’s tone of voice meant.

“No, I’m Paul.” Trowa laughed, briefly and quietly. Heero would understand.

“Do you want to meet up?”

“Will you be in the area?”

“I already tracked your call signal.” It wasn’t an admission. Heero had done it probably out of boredom or habit as soon as the call connected. They all had habits like that. Quatre always answered calls immediately, Duo let them ring twice or four times before picking up, that sort of thing. Superstitions and war habits.

“Okay.” Trowa said.

“Good night, Trowa.” Heero replied.

—

“Hey, Paul, I think you have a fan.” Alex waved him over after their lunch break. Trowa trotted to stand next to the other man. They had cleared most of the second house and found a body and a starving cat. They would be on to the next site tomorrow, but for the rest of the day their work was over. Alex jerked his head toward the line of cones that marked the construction zone. “There’s no rules against seeing old friends.” 

“We’re — “ Trowa searched for the right word. “He also served.” He finished. 

“Yeah, he’s got that look to him. Go on, we won’t need you for clean up.”

“You sure?” Paul was the helpful kind of person. He would be the kind to stay with Alex and do clean up or console him about his foot or his feelings or whatever. Paul was a bleeding heart. Even if Trowa couldn’t find it in himself to feel the emotions he could present them just fine.

“Dude, he’s been hanging around all morning apparently. I know how it is — when you see someone from your past sometimes there’s just a connection. Shared experiences. Maybe it’ll help you out.” Alex patted him on the shoulder, pushed him towards the cone line. Trowa made another feeble protest out of obligation and then headed over.

“You’re fast.” 

“I was close by.” Heero turned and started walking. “Lunch?”

“Already ate.” Trowa easily caught up with him. They fell into a comfortable silence. Trowa let Heero pick the path and the pace. Soon they were headed down the highway, on foot, and then into the nearby woods. It wasn’t a true forest, more like scrub that ran between farmland, but it was shady and out of the way.

“Why?” Heero asked. He pulled out a camera and took a picture.

Trowa leaned against a tree and crossed his arms. He knew he didn’t have to answer right away, so he took his time to organize his thoughts and let Heero take photos of trees and grass and squirrels. Heero had changed and all over again Trowa felt envious. He hadn’t felt the same deep seated idolization and envy for Heero since the soldier had confessed to not being perfect and Trowa had watched him go on a journey of self-flagellation and emotional respite. And then all Heero had to do was take a picture of a squirrel, frown and take another and Trowa was envious all over again.

“I couldn’t find myself.” Trowa finally answered. Heero, of all people, deserved his truth.

“You’re not Paul.” 

“I’m not Paul.”

“You should travel with me, for the rest of the summer.”

“I have obligations —“

“Paul has obligations.” Heero took a picture of another tree. “I feel like I want you to.” 

Trowa laughed. How was he supposed to turn that down? He held his hand out for Heero’s camera, fingers curled just enough to form a beckoning motion. Heero relinquished it without question. Trowa held it up and took a picture of the sky. Then he took a picture of Heero.

“Sure. Let’s travel.”

—

It turned out to be both far easier and far harder to get out of volunteer work than Trowa would have thought. All he had to do was tell Alex that things had changed and he needed out. Alex pulled him into the makeshift construction office and shut the door behind them.

“I had a feeling, Paul.”

“A feeling?” Paul would be incredulous, of course. Paul thought he knew himself well. Paul would do a half-shrug and look helplessly at Alex. Trowa executed those gestures, and widened his eyes a little.

“You know, I’ve been with this crew for a while. We get a lot of guys like you — usually young guys. People who went home and were fine and then woke up some day and couldn’t get the war out of their heads again. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you were too damn young for that war. You should’ve gone to high school, college, maybe gone to senior prom instead of fought. It’s harder on the guys who went out when they were young and didn’t have anything to come back to, is what I’m saying.” Alex grimaced. “I don’t mean to give you a lecture, but I was lost enough when I came back — and I had a girlfriend, a family and a home. I saw your paperwork. . .”

“Alex.” Trowa cut in. He didn’t care what Paul would do. He was leaving Paul behind in a few minutes anyway.

“Here’s my card and I wrote the number down of some resources. You look like someone who’s trying, Paul, but you don’t look like someone who’s ready.” Alex pressed the business card into Trowa’s hand. He was genuinely helpful. Trowa resisted the urge to yank his hand back and just tilted his head down, an expression of submission.

“Thanks for everything, Alex.”

“Hope to see you around, Paul.”

“Someday, maybe.” Trowa replied.


	6. Chapter 6

“See.” Duo waved a hand at the plants. Quatre leaned closer to them, examined them and nodded with exaggeration.

“I see your life was in danger without me here.” He agreed.

“How can Trowa keep these beasts?” Duo questioned, before watering them. The weather was nice, not too hot even though it was moving into late summer. Duo had shed his blacks for a white tee and jeans. Quatre, ever immaculate, wore slacks and a business shirt, suit jacket abandoned and draped over a chair inside.

“I think he likes them,” Quatre answered solemnly. “Maybe they remind him of the circus.”

“We should kidnap one and hold it ransom. Come to the reunion or else.” Duo muttered. “I don’t have anything of Heero’s or Wufei’s we could use though.”

Quatre pretended to consider the matter very seriously. He wouldn’t force any of his friends to visit and that would be why their visits were so infrequent. He did want them to come to the reunion. He wanted everyone to see each other again, all at once. _He_ wanted to see them all together.

“We could try blackmail.” He suggested.

“What? Do you have any good dirt on them?”

“Heero took an entire memory card worth of photos of just his thumb once.” Quatre figured it wasn’t very good blackmail, but it was something. Duo laughed and walked further out onto Trowa’s patio. He stood there in the sun for the moment.

“You’re a good guy, Quatre.”

“So are you, Duo.”

Duo looked over his shoulder at Quatre. “I don’t want to ruin the moment,” he started.

“We can talk, if you want.” Quatre folded his hands in front of him. “I don’t mind. There’s a lot of things I can’t say to the people around me either. There’s a lot of things I haven’t been able to say to anyone.”

“Feels different, doesn’t it.” Duo murmured. “Surviving and then everyone goes back to doing whatever. . . I’m glad I got a home, I have myself, I have you guys — even if we’re shit with communication. Hell, I’ve even got Trowa, doing whatever Trowa does with his weird plants.”

“I’m not a good guy, Duo.” Quatre ground out. It didn’t take as much as it used to. He had learned how to discuss things without falling into the pit of guilt and despair that he had once been, but that had also been a defense. If he was a guilty person then he could admit it. Becoming someone who had done terrible — horrific, really — things in the past but was also the person he was today was more difficult. “I won’t argue about it, but sometimes I feel like you guys. . .” He trailed off. He didn’t want to accuse them, his friends and allies.

“We don’t put you up higher than us, Quat.” Duo grinned and walked back to him, slung an arm around his shoulders. They were the same height, now, and had similar builds. They fit together comfortably and in no small part that was because they trusted each other. “But we all got something the others don’t. I think that’s why we should all go to the reunion, you know? There’s things about you I envy but I swear, and with every bit of honesty I’ve ever had, there’s things about you that I would never wish on my worst enemy.”

“Duo. . .”

“And one of them is how you have to buy all the senators birthday gifts.” Duo crowed, “What are you going to get Madame Monique? If she stares at you any harder you’ll burn to a crisp! She hates you!”

“I don’t mind the honesty, Duo. You don’t have to lighten the mood.” Quatre said softly.

“I know, but maybe I do mind sometimes.” Duo sat down, crossed his legs and looked up at the sky. He still half-expected to see air crews doing sweeps, or hear sirens. There wasn’t even a cloud.

“I know too.” Quatre sat next to him, still quiet and also looked up.

—

Heero drove and Trowa called Wufei. Heero didn’t have a destination in mind and Trowa suggested they drive until they ran out of gas and then decided from there. It sounded foolish, really, like a bad idea but Heero agreed.

“Wufei.” Trowa greeted. Heero accelerated.

“Barton, what are you doing?” Wufei could hear the sound of the car moving, Trowa’s window was half-down. “You aren’t driving with Maxwell, are you?”

“No, I’m with Heero.” 

“Did he wish to speak with me?”

“No, I called you.”

There’s a pause. Wufei and Trowa had tenuous contact, it was normally Wufei calling Trowa. He had a better relationship with Heero. Trowa let the silence sit for a moment longer. It didn’t bother him and if it bothered Wufei then he would change it.

“Then?” Wufei demanded.

“I need a book recommendation.” Trowa rolled his window up. Heero pushed the car faster still. The road was empty and there was nothing but farmland for miles. “Something long, historical, maybe romantic.”

“You want me to recommend you a romance novel.” Wufei repeated, but he wasn’t surprised. Over the years he had found that Trowa consumed every genre of literature at the same pace — voraciously and without care. He never seemed to enjoy any of it particularly, but he read it and would discuss it.

“Yes.”

“I don’t read romance novels.” 

“Okay. Thank you, Wufei.” And Trowa hung up.

Heero drove in silence until the gas meter drops below the E and the car starts putting off fumes. He pulled over and he and Trowa look around. They’re out of farm country, they’ve moved into rolling hills but there’s no city in sight.

“Romance novel.” Heero commented, getting his backpack out of the trunk.

“Why not?” Trowa asked, gathered his own bag. “Want to walk until we’re too tired to walk anymore?”

“Yes.”

—

They walked for hours. Then by silent consensus they stopped at a creek. There was little shelter but if they got rained on they would get wet. Neither of them minded summer storms, or dampness, or sleeping under the stars. Neither of them had a bedroll either. It didn’t matter.

“You’re letting me lead.” Heero stated. He had noticed it, Trowa had followed his lead since he had asked him to travel. If he traced it back further, Trowa had followed his lead during the war and then tried to after. 

“Yes.” Trowa watched him. They were both on the ground, on their sides, half curled. In a matter of seconds they could both be on their feet, armed. In the war they had done this before too, traveled and slept on the ground and waited to see if anyone would try to kill them in their sleep.

Heero didn’t expect anyone to come tonight. He knew, because he had checked, because he had the road map memorized, that there was no active military base or militia group in the immediate area. The war was over and there were no fly-bys. But he watched the tension in Trowa’s shoulders, even as the rest of his body seemed relaxed and inert. Heero tucked his camera next to his head. His gun wasn’t within reach.

“Then follow.” He shut his eyes.

Trowa watched Heero drift to sleep. Or maybe not. They all — all five of them — could feign sleep, probably. He had never see Quatre do it, but he was sure Quatre could. Heero had been a soldier, he would have had training to be able to. Trowa shut his eyes as well, but his fingers were wrapped securely around a knife.


	7. Chapter 7

“Do you remember the first person you killed?” Heero asked. They had been walking for hours, again. They would hit a town in another three, if they kept pace. Trowa tilted his head to the side, considered.

Heero examined Trowa’s thoughtful face. Out of all of them, Trowa was the best liar and Quatre came a close second. Part of that was their demeanor, both of them had a deceptively passive attitude, one that didn’t ask to be investigated. While Quatre’s lies were seamless, his own sense of morality would sometimes betray him. A little crease at the corner of his eyes, or the tiniest microexpression that showed how the lie weighed on his heart. Trowa didn’t have tells — not for lies, anyway. Heero had discovered, during the war and after, that it was easier to see try and spot a truth with Trowa rather than a lie. Sometimes the truth put pressure on him, the same kind of pressure that gave Quatre away.

“No,” Trowa said, there was no sign of a lie and no sign of a truth. 

“I do.” Heero offered.

Trowa looked interested. The shoulder closest to Heero dropped a little, head tilted in the opposite direction, indicating he was listening. Heero figured it was an honest gesture — or at least a meaningful one. Trowa could, and Heero had been subject to that as well, simply close off his body language if he wanted to. 

“I shot him.” It wasn’t difficult to pull up the memory. Heero had been the cause of people’s death, before then. He had exploded barracks and set mines and tripwires, but the first time he had looked into someone’s eyes and killed them — that was different. Something must have shown on his face because Trowa dropped his gaze to the ground, briefly, before looking down the road.

“. . . ah, not collateral.” Trowa supplied.

“Yes.”

“Then, yes.” 

Heero doesn’t mimic Trowa’s listening pose. He just walked forward. They walked in silence for another twenty minutes. It was comfortable, the wind was minimal and even though the sun burned hot above them there was a mild chill in the air. Comfortable.

“A runner, from the job we had.” Trowa’s voice was quiet, but not private. “I was too young to be with the raid, so I was keeping watch. He tried to run down the stairs and past me, trying to get out. I didn’t have a gun.”

“Knife?”

“No.”

Heero nodded.

“Did it make you sick?”

The edges of Trowa’s mouth curled up, almost fond. “No.”

“Me neither.”

—

Quatre sighed and placed the last of the binders on the table. Already seated, Wufei made a noise of disgust and cast one of the other binders on the floor. He huffed, crossed his arms and glared at the next binder.

“Having trouble?” Quatre asked.

“Half of these idiots don’t understand what ‘must speak at least two languages’ means.” Wufei grumbled. “It’s _in_ the job posting.” The job posting that Quatre and Wufei had labored and argued over for hours before releasing it into the public. The job posting for teachers to come — at a very nice salary and very nice benefits package — and teach at the school Wufei was building. 

Quatre chuckled. 

“It’s not funny.” Wufei snapped the next binder open to skim the resume.

“It is, a little.” Quatre took his seat and also opened a binder, with far less anger than Wufei. “We could have gotten an assistant to look these over, or you could not ask for bilingual teachers.” He continued, brightly.

“It is _important_ that they be well-versed in at least one other language, considering that the students will be from diverse backgrounds. And it is _important_ that _we_ do this. I refuse to have this institution become another sub-par cookie cutter school with no sense of passion for education that teaches students to be nothing more than well-trained delinquents.” 

Quatre privately thought ‘well-trained delinquents’ was a bit of an oxymoron, but he let it slide. He and Wufei had had countless discussions about the school. It would be small, there weren’t enough funds to make it larger, but it would also be alternative. Wufei wanted it to be open to everyone from orphans to the upper class — so it would have to have a unique structure of classes, since many children in the area from lower income households had jobs to maintain. And the teachers would have to be able to adjust for children with different levels of knowledge and skill sets. And, of course, things like lunch and breakfast would have to be an option, so there had to be a plan for that in place. . . Quatre had an easier time with the business side of things, but he did agree that the teachers needed to be as high quality as they would get for their money.

He also knew what Wufei meant by well-trained delinquents. Many of Quatre’s peers had been that kind of person. Someone with manners and money, but also entitlement and a lack of integrity.

“I agree, so what do you think of this teacher?” Quatre slid the binder over. She was well-qualified, the only red-flag being that she would near retirement sooner rather than later.

Wufei narrowed his eyes, skimmed the resume and then flipped past it to examine the cover letter and other statements. He huffed. He made an exasperated noise. He set the binder aside, not on the floor.

“I’ll keep my options open.” He said sourly.

“Good thing we have over a hundred resumes to look through!” Quatre grinned.

—

“Don’t run yourself ragged,” Duo told Quatre over the phone. Quatre had offered to visit again, to water the plants, to spend time with Duo. He had joked that it would be better than board meetings — but Duo knew that when Quatre traveled he just called in, or had the board meetings later and every day that Quatre took off as a day he had to work on the weekend, or late at night. “Tro’s plants will just have to deal with me next weekend.”

“It’s really no bother,” Quatre murmured, but he wouldn’t push it. If he did then Duo would push back. “Did Wufei tell you about his school?”

“His school?” Duo banged into a cupboard, drew out a sauce pan and slammed it on the stove. “Nope. Last time we talked though I think I pissed him off so mostly he told me about how much I suck.” 

“I’m sure he was only half-right.” Quatre laughed.

“Woah, you mean, only meant half of it! He wasn’t right about _any_ of it.”

“I’m just saying, Duo . . .”

“I thought you were my friend!”

“We certainly aren’t flawless, remember. I’m sure your bad traits are only there to balance your good ones.” Quatre offered diplomatically.

“Honesty is a great good trait,” Duo shook his head, and almost lost the phone into a pot of marinara sauce. He put the lid on the pot and moved to the living room to sprawl on the couch. “So, seems like you got your wish. We’re all talking to each other more.”

“It’s — well it wasn’t just my wish.”

“Mmmhmm, but you’re kind of the heart, you know? I guess Heero would be the head, the one between the shoulders. Dunno where that leaves the rest of us though.”

“I think you have that reversed,” Quatre said gently. He had always envisioned Heero as the heart, because he was all heart. And, perhaps, because if the five of them combined to make some kind of human than their heart was brave but clumsy with certain things — a determined heart that fought for ideals but was eternally wounded. 

“I get to be the right hand, and I guess Wufei can be the left one. Do you think he’d prefer the right? Well, he can’t have that. That leaves Trowa to be the legs, but then why does he get to be two limbs instead of one?” Duo continued.

“Maybe we only have one leg.”


	8. Chapter 8

Quatre hated fielding calls from war reporters. He hated it more than fielding questions about who he was dating and did he find Queen Relena to be beautiful and by the way why did he eat a sandwich on Tuesday instead of a lettuce wrap. They were always nosy, rude and hungry for blood.

“Mr. Winner — if you wouldn’t mind, please share your thoughts on any efforts to revive the War Machines program!” 

And that was exactly a question he never wanted to think about. Quatre smiled politely, but he was sure disapproval was showing on his face. He didn’t want to mask that emotion, he just couldn’t afford to be too rude, to reel back and punch the journalist and then continue walking into his office.

“I’m sorry, has someone seriously contemplated bringing back that program?”

“We don’t have any official word, but — “

“I would be happy to field any questions that are relevant to my own business and that does include competitors. But to be sporting I’ll say that the War Machines program is a bad investment for all involved. We should take a moment to remember and mourn the number of lives that were lost — both in the program’s inception, training and the eventual war. If that’s all…” And he escaped inside, nodding to the receptionist to stop the reporter from following him up to his office.

War Machines. Quatre grimaced. He knew all the surviving products of the War Machine program. He also knew that there had been some debate about whether or not the five of them should be eliminated but eventually the powers that be had decided to just pay them. Pay them and then keep tabs on them — both to ensure they were behaving well and also that if they were ever needed they could be counted on to do their part for peace.

And, he knew, they all would even if they wouldn’t like it.

As far as the general public knew the War Machines program had been a risky gamble to create exceptional soldiers. Creating large armored exoskeletons that could rip tanks apart and survive being bombed along with unique training. It was true, to an extent. The War Machines in question were actually a set of large scale weaponry, ranging from experimental bombs to the mythic exoskeleton armor that had caused such panic on the battlefields.

The unique training, though, was what made it more than just a weapons program. Each of the experimental weapons had been keyed to only respond to someone who had the brainwave pattern of a successful War Machines soldier.

Quatre sat back in his chair and rubbed his forehead. Too much thinking on the past would break down the pleasant veneer he had put over his post-war life. It would drag him back into the anger and helplessness that had driven him during the latter part of the war. He didn’t want that.

His agenda for the day lay on his desk, waiting for him. His new life, Quatre Winner, businessman not soldier, just needed him to lean forward and begin his work day. He leaned forward and listened to the leather of his chair creak. It was nothing like the pistons and metal of his War Machine. His office smelled like lemons and clean linen, not blood and ash. But if he shut his eyes he could hear the sound of bullets and the shearing of metal and the soldiers on the ground begging for mercy. He felt the urge to vomit, something he hadn’t experienced in years. Wasn’t life supposed to get easier with time and distance?

Instead Quatre breathed in and he breathed out. He forced himself to focus on his agenda and traced the line of the numbers on the paper. Eight o’clock. Eight-thirty. Nine o’clock. He made it down to one o’clock printed on his agenda before he no longer felt queasy.

—

“Well, fuck them.” Duo muttered as he watched the video of Quatre’s response to the news reporter. Next to him Hilde made a rude noise in agreement.

“They’re insane.” Hilde was one of the few people who knew about the program and even she didn’t know much about it. She was the one who Duo talked to, after the war. He had worked with housing projects while she had been on the accelerated track to get her badge. “We’re at peace, anyway.” 

“For now,” Duo agreed. “Do you think there’s any truth to it?”

“Nothing serious. Who would do something like that? It’ll cost them more than it will get them.” Hilde reassured him.

“Thanks for the reassurance,” Duo rolled his eyes, but changed the subject. “I’m going to court soon, it’s the kids from the lower quarter. They’re all good kids, you know? Just. . . a little rowdy.”

A little rowdy was Duo-speak for vandals. Hilde raised an eyebrow. She knew about the case, of course, but had no idea Duo had been called in as an advocate. That meant it was a little more complicated than good kids who were vandalizing property.

“A difficult case?”

“Yeah. Parents are involved, if you could call them that.” Most of the kids Duo worked with were orphans or had rocky home lives. “It’s going to be rough, one of the kids is old enough to get tried as an adult, you know? And I hate that, but I can’t help but think _we_ got off free. But this kid might get fucked because some adults made bad decisions for a few years.” It was vague, but neither of them could afford specifics. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to make too much of a difference and now there’s reporters asking about stuff they shouldn’t. The world was supposed to get a lot better.”

She slung her arm around his shoulders and pulled him in, tucking their bodies together on the couch.

“It is better, but we’ve still got a while to go. You’re just a bit impatient.”

“Says the person who became a cop to hurry things along.”

“We can both be impatient, Mr. Grumpy.”

—

“Trowa! I didn’t expect you and — “ Catherine’s eyes narrowed, even as she greeted Trowa with a smile. “And Heero.”

Trowa shrugged before stepping forward to give Catherine a hug. He wasn’t really a hugger but over the years Catherine had opened him up to the idea — of hugs from her. She returned the hug firmly and then held a hand out for Heero. 

“We were in the area.” Trowa explained. Heero and Catherine shook hands, both with serious expressions. Catherine because she was measuring him up and Heero because he couldn’t blame her for it. She didn’t dislike Trowa’s acquaintances — friends? — but she would really like him to get some civilian friends, or friends from school or work.

“Do you want to stay for dinner, or will you be moving on?” She quirked a smile. They were similar in that sense, both of them moved a lot. Catherine because of her work, but even if she wasn’t she would probably be nomadic. Home was what you carried with you, not a physical location. And Trowa seemed to be much the same, though she worried part of that was because he didn’t feel like he had a home, even if he was always invited to stay with her.

Trowa tilted his head to look at Heero. They shared a silent glance and then Heero gave the slightest nod.

“That sounds great. We’ll probably head out again in the evening.”

“Train or bus?” Heero asked, then.

Catherine rolled her eyes and waved a hand between them. “You two should stay the night. I have a guest room and then you’ll be able to have brunch with me tomorrow too. You’re both welcome, so don’t do something stupid like catch a midnight train.”

“We could take care of ourselves, Catherine.” Trowa smiled a little, though. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Heero echoed. He didn’t give Catherine a smile of his own, but he added, “I’m glad we could stop by to see you. We weren’t going to, originally.” She was receptive to his admission, and gave Trowa A Look.

“Oh, I bet you weren’t. Trowa’s awful about this kind of thing.” She shook her head and stepped back inside, waving her hands to usher them in. “The only way to fix him is just to be pushy. Also you both look like you need to do laundry, what have you been doing? I hope it’s not hitchhiking.”

“Just walking,” Trowa murmured, as if hoping she wouldn’t overhear.

“Laundry and showers first. You can tell me all about your terrible decision making skills over dinner.” Catherine grinned, though, shutting the door behind them.


	9. Chapter 9

“Cathy,” Trowa drew her away after dinner. Heero offered to wash the dishes while Trowa and Catherined stepped outside. Trowa hunched his shoulders, hands slipped into his pockets. Starting conversations had never been his strong point, he was really more of a reactive personality. “I’m not avoiding you.”

“Trowa Barton, don’t you lie to me. You’re definitely ignoring me.” She crossed her arms, but her voice was fond. “You know you could have stayed.”

He looked down at the ground, not hanging his head in shame, but carefully scrutinizing the gravel that her portable house was on. Some of it was limestone, some looked like old seashells. He let his eyes drift, running through different things he could say. 

“I told you that I’d stay and protect you, after the war.” He finally decided on. “I’ll return when I fix myself.”

“You really want to get punched again, don’t you?” Catherine shook her head. “I can’t believe I have such a dense brother.”

Trowa lifted his head to look at her, a little wry smile on his face. They were probably not actually siblings. Anything was possible and he knew about her little brother but nothing about that story matched up with Trowa’s experiences. Though, he also didn’t remember much before the foster family he had shared with Duo.

It didn’t really matter, anyway.

“Sorry, did I miss something important again?”

“You’re not something to be fixed, Trowa.” She drew him into another hug. “We all mess up. I can’t believe you still have trouble getting some of this through that thick head of yours. You do things I don’t like and sometimes when you mess up it’s more painful than when the Ringmaster drops his hat during an opening, or someone misplaces a handful of cash. But I know what you’re thinking when you say that. And don’t you dare. You’re worth something, you’re worth _everything_. You don’t really need to be your own enemy.”

He stiffened in her arms. It wasn’t an unfamiliar speech, every time he visited she did something like this. Sometimes it was just sharing food, a one-armed hug, putting him to some task like cleaning or carpentry that let him _do_ something for her. Other times it was a talk like this, or showing him around to the new performers, introducing him as her brother Trowa. Catherine was always trying to give him a place in the world.

It was painful, in a way, but by now he wouldn’t ever let go of it either.

“Now, do you and Heero want an extra bedroll or should I just give you a large blanket?” She drew back a bit, so she could wink dramatically at him.

“I’ll ask him.”

“Trowa.” She stopped him again. “Don’t — just do things that make you happy. I’ll be glad when you come home.”

They had decided against another bed in the small guest room. They had been sleeping next to each other on the ground for a few days and during the war they’d shared cots and blankets. All of them had, and before that Trowa had shared whatever warmth with whoever asked it of him.

Heero dropped an arm across Trowa, after they settled, and then pulled him closer. Trowa followed Heero’s lead, let himself be pulled closer and drew the blanket around them a little tighter. 

“Taking your chances?” Trowa asked softly.

“No,” Heero replied. 

“I punched Catherine.” A beat. “The last time I was here.”

Heero counted inhalations. Fourteen later he responded.

“You’re worried.”

“No.” Trowa’s tone matched Heero’s exactly. “I haven’t promised you that I’ll protect you.”

That made Heero laugh, a soft chuckling exhale. Trowa could feel the vibrations of the movement and they unsettled him a little. Heero shifted, laughter fading.

“This is something I want to do too.” Verbalization of his feelings, confirmation of pursuing his own desires.

Trowa shut his eyes. “All right. I’ll leave it in your hands then.” It could have been a joke. As if he was bestowing the burden of responsibility for their night curled together on Heero’s shoulders. And Heero, for all his newfound drive to explore his own feelings and follow them singlemindedly, just accepted it.

—

“Thanks for taking the time to meet with me, Mr. Winner.” Relena’s smile was perfect and the curtsey she gave Quatre was only one degree shy of being proper. He gave her a bow that was the exact same level of politeness.

“The pleasure is mine, Queen Relena.”

They stood and faced each other for a moment. It wasn’t quite a showdown, they were on mostly the same side, but she was a queen and he was a businessman. He held quite a lot of power, and money was a constant factor whereas her public favor could upend at any time. He believed in her, but she wasn’t naive enough to think that belief in peace would protect her.

“I assume you can guess why I’ve come.”

“I could guess, but I think we’d both prefer it if we discussed it before leaping to conclusions.”

“We would be honored if you would contribute to the reconstruction.” Relena folded her hands in front of her. It was a passive but closed gesture. “I understand that you’ve already done a lot for charitable causes, but there are massive infrastructural damage to both the capital and many other cities in the country.”

“That is asking quite a lot.” Quatre, on the other hand, opened his stance. “We have considerable resources at our disposal, of course, but you do understand my hesitance to just give them away. . .?”

She laughed, it was a pleasant small laugh. The laugh of a queen. “Yes. I wouldn’t be asking you to do so without some compensation. Surely you know that my plan isn’t to remain queen forever?”

“Yes, but I can’t say that I’m too fond of becoming king.”

“Oh, no, don’t misunderstand me. What a nation needs isn’t a monarchy but a collection of people who are deeply invested in the good of the country. When we are stable enough I would like to start shifting power — what I’m offering you is a chance to be one of the engineers of a new political era.”

Quatre exhaled, the only sign of his nervousness. He knew what that meant, what it entailed. Any other many would jump at the chance, especially a businessman. What Relena could give him would be a way to secure himself and his business as not only benefactors but leaders and quite possibly rulers of the country. 

But to Quatre it sounded like signing his soul away for the greater good.

“I’ll have to think about it.”

“I hope you accept, there are others that we could make the same offer, who I do not think are the same caliber of gentleman as you.” Quatre could see the trap Relena constructed, it wasn’t a very subtle one, but she too had her back against the wall. They both had a limited set of moves and their own personal freedoms were not on the board to begin with.

“Yes, I’m well aware.”


	10. Chapter 10

Two weeks before the planned reunion, Quatre called Trowa. He video called him and after the call went to voice mail he called again and sent Trowa a text: Would like to see your face. Trowa picked up then, he looked disheveled and had a pen tucked behind his right ear.

“Quatre.”

“Trowa, sorry — are you studying?”

“Taking a break. These books are terrible.” Which, he didn’t really mean. Trowa hadn’t met a book he didn’t enjoy reading to some extent, but hunting for hidden meanings in high school literature was his least favorite thing to do. “Something the matter?”

“Would you mind if we spoke, for a while?”

Trowa shifted, bringing the laptop more into view and he set down some books and the pen. “Sure.”

“Relena gave me an offer.” Quatre fidgeted and sighed. “To help rebuild the nation and that would give me an in to be on the coming council — or senate or whatever it is.” He looked down at his desk.

Trowa thought it over. He knew what someone else might say — congratulations, or a warning for Quatre to not spend his money poorly, but Quatre and Trowa had a similar issue. Trowa, who had gone from violence to the war and couldn’t navigate his own personal wants, even when given the opportunity. And then Quatre, who had not been given the opportunity after the war.

“Do you want to?” He finally asked.

“No.” Quatre ran his hand through his hair. “But you know the alternative.”

“She said you were the best person for the job.” Trowa mused. “Is there anyone else you would trust to do it?”

“No,” Quatre said, reluctantly.

“Quatre.” 

Trowa waited until Quatre had looked up, met Trowa’s gaze and took several deep breaths.

“If you don’t do it you’ll regret it. If you do do it then you’ll be unhappy.” 

“Yes, that’s exactly it. I — it’s just so selfish, Trowa, but I want to be happy.” 

“That’s not selfish.”

“It is when it could mean that millions of people suffer, Trowa.” Quatre bit his bottom lip. “I — I think I would enjoy part of it. I always enjoy part of it. I even joy my business. But I don’t enjoy the things that come with it, public image, propriety, meeting expectations.”

“You deserve to be happy, Quatre. And I’m sure if you’re just yourself you’ll do fine.” Trowa couldn’t really imagine anyone who was more fit to be in the public eye. Out of everyone that Trowa knew Quatre seemed the most, well, normal and palatable to the general public. Cathy came close, but she also broke a man’s arm once when he touched her inappropriately and while that was just fine it was probably not under the category of public image or propriety. “You’re a hero and a leader and people look up to you. Unless you’ve been dishonest with me, I think much the same.”

He had to phrase it carefully. There had been an incident in the war where Quatre had lost everything and taken his anger out on everything around him. He’d basically killed Trowa except through some freak stroke of luck. It wasn’t a sore spot, but it was still an open wound for Quatre. Trowa, who had spent more than just the years of the war on some kind of battlefield, took it far less personally.

“I knew that I was going to accept, even before she finished talking.” Quatre confessed.

“I know.”

“I — can I count on you to support me? I shouldn’t ask — you’re as stuck as I am, aren’t you?”

“Heero’s with me.” Trowa said, by way of explanation, by way of alleviating Quatre’s guilt. “I’ll support you.”

Quatre let out his breath. “Oh — with you, _with_ you? That’s good, you two — ?”

“Something like that.”

“I’m happy for you.”

“It might not be real. But I’ll support you, Quatre.”

“Have you told Heero that? That it might not be real? Honestly, Trowa. . .” Quatre laughed. The tension left his face. Trowa smiled in response. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

They talk some more, about mundane things. Quatre is a lot happier when they hang up. Trowa doesn’t go back to studying. Instead he got up and walked to his back porch. Heero was changing pots for some of the plants. He had been at it all morning, rearranging some plants and repotting the ones that had outgrown their previous homes.

“Are we together?” Trowa asked. Heero looked back at him and wiped the back of his wrist across his nose. A streak of dirt followed and Trowa didn’t bother to hide his amusement. “You have dirt on your face.”

“Yes.” Heero said.

“I told Quatre we sort of were.”

“You don’t feel the same way?” Heero asked, but they hadn’t really discussed it. They slept together, Heero had moved in, more or less. They ate together. Neither of them changed their plans, neither of them adjusted any further than necessary.

“I like you.” Trowa said. “It’s nice.”

“Trowa.” Heero stood up. “I want this, do you?”

“I like it. It’s not bad. It’s nice seeing you happy,” He mentally scrambled for the right thing to say, “To see you happy here.”

Heero smiled. It was a small smile but entirely different from Trowa’s own. While Trowa’s smile always seemed one shade shy of bashful, or even impish, Heero’s had a bald honesty to it that made Trowa’s heart sink. It discombobulated him. It reminded him that Heero was following his emotions and it was just better if Trowa followed him.

“Reunion is in two weeks.” Heero commented. “What did Quatre want?”

“Just to talk, he’s been under a lot of stress.”

“Relena has as well.” Heero kept in contact with her. They spoke almost daily and sometimes Trowa watched them talk. Relena brought out a side of Heero that was unique. Trowa had seen a range of Heero’s moods — even more of them since they started living together — but the one had showed with Relena was really special. He seemed to soften up, to be more his age, he even made stupid mistakes. Nothing costly, but it was endearing. Trowa was glad Relena existed, if only for that. He wondered if he would be similar, if Catherine had been younger than him rather than older.

“It must be tough, politics.”

“She’s not happy,” Heero made a sound that was almost a wistful sigh, but it was far too militaristic, derisive. “But she knows her duty.”

“Do you have a duty to her?” Trowa asked.

“Yes.”

“Mm. I’m going to study some more, there’s probably still leftovers from last night’s dinner.” 

“Don’t you have a duty to Quatre?”

Trowa’s hand stopped on the patio door handle. The answer, was of course yes. He wasn’t sure why, exactly, though. He wouldn’t say he had a duty to Duo, or Wufei, or Catherine. But if any of them asked him something he would as surely give it as he had to Quatre.

“I do.”

“It’s like that.” Heero said. “That’s how we are.”

“It would probably be better if we didn’t think of it as an obligation.” 

“The feeling is the same.”

“No, it isn’t.” But Trowa stepped inside and shut the door behind him. He didn’t want to argue feelings with Heero, not when he was sure he would lose.


	11. Chapter 11

Duo visited Wufei, before the reunion. He wanted to see the school that Wufei was working on and he didn’t really want to travel alone. The school Wufei was building was taking shape and large piles of desks and chairs wrapped in plastic were being moved in, under Wufei’s careful eye.

“Wow.” Duo said.

“What a stunning observation,” Wufei replied dryly.

“Really going after the authentic student experience, huh?”

“And when were you a student?”

“Hey! I had to do my letters and numbers just like anyone else. And the church had a schooling program.” Duo crossed his arms. He hadn’t really liked school, but his education had been enough and unlike Trowa he didn’t feel the compulsion to return to it in some weird obligatory normalcy. It wouldn’t help him in his job, anyway.

“Maxwell.” Wufei didn’t look at him, or even away from the work on the schoolhouse.

“Hm?”

“How many hours a week do you work?”

“What? Don’t get on my case, it’s a full forty. Just some of them are site visits and others are at home with case files, it’s kind of — well, you should know. Not all work is done at the office.” Duo grumbled. His job required a lot of travel, a lot of days that went on long and then some days that were so short it seemed like ‘why bother?’.

“Don’t assume everything I say is an insult.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. But, why’d you ask then?”

“I would appreciate it if you had time to take a shift at this school.” Wufei still didn’t look at him.

“What?”

“I would appreciate — “

“No, I heard you, but what do you mean by that?”

Wufei sighed. He finally tore his eyes away from the schoolhouse to look Duo in the eye. “Neither of us are stupid. The children that will attend this school will not be perfect scholars or even well-behaved. You have both the experience and — track record — to deal with them.”

“You want me to be a part time counselor at your school.” Duo summarized. He blinked slowly and stared. “— really?”

“No, I just asked you as a test. Yes, of course.”

“I’d — like that.” Duo grinned. “Can’t believe it though, you asking me for a job.”

“Don’t make me regret it.” Wufei grumbled darkly.

—

“You work too much.”

Dorothy sat down across from Relena. It was evening, far past dinner, and Relena was still sorting through files, reports, drafts of speeches and plans for the city. It was one of her better — and most annoying — traits, the determination to see things through to the end.

“Someone has to,” Relena smiled a little. “Have you come to drag me home?”

“I was just going to take another picture of you, for that scrapbook of yours.” Dorothy tossed her hair, kept her expression haughty. But she also placed a can of warm coffee and a small box of exquisite truffles on the desk between them. “It wouldn’t do for a queen to collapse from hunger and exhaustion either. Your appearances must be kept up, Miss Relena.” Her lips quirked into a smile that was reminiscent of a hunting cat’s.

“If we can’t get Quatre’s support it will be difficult,” she sighed and popped the top of the coffee. “But it’s unfair for me to push him anymore than I already have. He’s good at what he does but you and I both know his heart isn’t in it.”

“Fragile boys aren’t worth your stress.”

“He’s not fragile, you know that better than anyone.”

“Don’t bother defending him to me, you’re far too forgiving.” Dorothy, true to her word, did snap another picture of Relena. “Your soldier will think you work too much as well.”

“Heero’s a workaholic, he might not even notice,” Relena set the coffee down and bent over the papers on her desk again. “We’ve come so far, but it seems the further we get the more difficult everything is. Sometimes. . .”

“War was easier.” Dorothy supplied, so Relena didn’t have to finish her sentence. “That’s because it is. But you’ve always been someone to take the harder path.”

“Thank you, Dorothy. I think I can finish up in an hour so.”

Dorothy made a noncommittal noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort of laughter. She didn’t move from her spot across from Relena, instead choosing to also read over the myriad of reports. She would, probably, have made the opposite decisions of Relena. The shift of power and resources along with dissolving of the ruling class was a risk. If they could get Quatre to back them it would be better, money and resources and business would cement her decisions. War had been so much easier, but Relena had never had a mind for that.

—

It wasn’t unusual for one of them to wake up in the night, but it was odd for Heero to leave the bed. Trowa woke when Heero did, his body alert with tension when Heero’s breathing had caught and then his weight had shifted. Then Heero had gotten up, slid off the bed and left the room.

Ten minutes later and he hadn’t returned. The clock read three in the morning. Trowa usually woke — if he had been unsettled — early in the night and then again late in the night. Heero’s night terrors came almost always on threes and fives. Even in that he was consistent.

With a slight groan Trowa hefted himself out of bed. It was cold, but not cold enough for him to search for a shirt, and walked out of the bedroom to try and find his sleeping partner. There was the muffled click of the stove being turned on, followed by the sound of the kettle being placed. 

“Heero?”

“Go back to bed.”

“Already awake.” Trowa perched on the counter. Neither of them had turned on the lights. “Dreams?”

“Yes.”

Heero didn’t make tea. He boiled the water and poured it into a mug, adding a squirt of lemon juice. Then he sat at the kitchen table and drank it in slow measured sips. “Maintenance work.”

That explained it. During the war, in those hulking metal machines they had used to kill, maintenance had been both laughably easy and horrific. The machines themselves were powerful, sturdy, difficult to break down and due to how they were calibrated any of them could have repaired them on their own. But, also, due to how they were put together it was all too common to find a shredded arm, pieces of scalp and other chunks of enemy flesh caught in the frame, under the feet, blood and oil in the gears and pistons. Once Trowa had extracted seventeen teeth from his own machine.

Maybe Heero had dreamed of memories, the number of bodies he had pulled out, that had been mangled by weapons and then again by the War Machine. Or, maybe, he dreamed of pulling too familiar bodies from the wreckage.

Trowa wondered if Heero ever had dreams where he didn’t mind untangling torn skin from the metal frame and woke up with the gut wrenching feeling of knowing that he was too empty to care.


End file.
